


After We Die

by krillia



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krillia/pseuds/krillia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Struggling with his tenuous grasp on sanity and his own nature, Anders is continuing his mission to try and liberate the mages. When he returns to Amaranthine he runs into Nathaniel Howe, who can't quite comprehend what's going on and is torn between helping the man he fought alongside for so long and doing what may be best for the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally part of the Dragon Age kink meme, although the fic stalled out there thanks to major life changes and an emotional breakdown. Having returned to myself, I've decided the fic deserved to be finished, though, and have chosen to do so here. I'm slowly going through the chapters and editing certain bits, is why I'm not starting with all the 8 chapters originally posted in the kink meme right off the bat.
> 
> Title is taken from a line in song "Wild Horses" by the Rolling Stones (specifically I took it from the cover by Charlotte Martin, which became the main background theme for writing this): "Lets do some living, after we die"

“I don't take kindly to being cheated.” 

The tavern owner sounded pissed off enough to get Nathaniel's attention, even if he'd had rather just stare broodily into his mug. It was bad beer, and quite frankly Nathaniel thought the man should be cheated. He just wanted to be far away if there was a brawl. He might have paid through the teeth for bad beer, but bad was better than none at all. If only because of the people who would say he was part of it, because he was Howe and all the Howes were bad seeds. He slid over a bit on the bar. Just in case.

“I wasn't trying to cheat you.” The voice sounded familiar and Nathaniel looked up to see a man with a hood pulled up over his face, impossible to see. Curious, he sat back and watched.

“You owe me another 8 silver for that meal,” the tavern keeper drawled. “I suggest you pay me, or maybe I could call back those Templars who just left and say you tried to bewitch me into giving you a discount.” 

The hooded figure flinched, his hand tightening spasmodically on the bar. There was a staff at his feet, but he didn't touch it. Just hung his head with a tight nod. “I only have five silver left.” 

Nathaniel wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. Even an idiot had to realize that the meal didn't cost anywhere near 8 silver. The man next to him had been charged two. The mage wasn't an idiot, but he was ready to bend to the tavern owner's greed and threats. “I can't just conjure up money. Can we come to some sort of agreement?”

The tavern owner laughed. “If you were a girl, I imagine there would be all sorts of agreements we could reach. But you're only good for silver. Give me the five and get out.”

“I was hoping for a room,” the mage tried again. He reached across the bar, obviously about the beg. The barkeep only recoiled though, pressing himself against the back wall and making it very, very clear why he was charging a mage three times as much as any other man. The mage flinched and pulled back, reaching up to pull back his hood. “Please.”

Nathaniel nearly dropped his beer as he finally placed the voice, paired with the clue of the face. Neither were at all what he remembered, but both were close enough for anyone intelligent to make the connection. He'd lived with the man for over a year, after all, and fought alongside him for most of that. A man tended to recognize the face of someone who pulls them back from death, and as much as Nathaniel hated to admit it, Anders had done that for him on more than one occasion. 

And yet, this was not the Anders that Nathaniel remembered. That Anders was infuriating and annoying, quick to make a joke and much too full of himself. Being around him always left Nathaniel, or anyone else, slightly wary. Partly due to the ever-present risk of having a cat suddenly land on your head, having launched itself from the top of Anders’ staff, but mostly because there was always a strange edge to him, that never left you quite sure whether you were Anders’ friend or just an entertaining sidetrack to his life.

This Anders was very, very different. Haggard and worn and looking more insane than mischievous. Even as he tried to reach the tavern owner’s eyes, they were darting to the sides, mostly towards the door, as though he expected to be assaulted at any moment. 

“I don’t need any help and I don’t need a half-dead mage in my rooms. Now get out.”

Not only did he look different, Nathaniel realized, Anders was also about to do what the tavern owner was suggesting. Instead of, you know, doing the smart thing and turning the asshole into a newt. He knew Anders could do it, certainly. The man had brought the wrath of the Maker down upon darkspawn, beast, and human alike. The bartender would be a newt before he could even yell, and the Templars would be none the wiser. 

Something was wrong here, Nathaniel decided, and he needed to know what. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what. The last time something had seemed off about his world it had turned out that the man who had raised him and taught him everything he knew about honor was actually a murderous bastard who had killed innocents and children in return for power. Yeah, ignorance was bliss. But now that he'd actually seen Anders it wasn't ignorance so much as willful self-deception. The Howes had dealt with more than enough of that the past few years.

Nathaniel slid up behind the tavern owner, slamming his drink down on the bar hard. It served a dual purpose, the first making sure both Anders and the barkeep's attention were on him instead of each other, and to make sure the barkeep didn't look down too quickly at the box under his bar, now several gold lighter than it had been. Hey, just because Anders was refusing to use his skills to get back at the greedy bastard didn't mean Nathaniel was going to skip a chance to use his. He’d paid through the teeth for his beer that wasn’t worth a bronze penny, and it didn’t seem like the guy deserved it. Or anything else. 

“Is it really so hard just to give the man a room?” Nathaniel asked casually.

“I don’t see why it’s your business,” the tavern-keeper replied, at the same time as Anders raised a hand and shook his head. Nathaniel wasn’t even sure if the mage had recognized him.

“It’s fine, Warden,” Anders said formally. The world implied that he’d recognized Nathaniel, the tone did not. “I’m sure he’s just full.” 

“Of course. This inn is full, the king of Ferelden was the product of a loyal marriage , and Oghren the dwarf was a confused girl,” Nathaniel said right back, watching Anders carefully. It got a grin, for which Nathaniel was glad. He would have needed to start worrying that maybe he had actually misidentified the mage otherwise. It also got dismayed gasps from the table behind him, which was amusing. The tavern-owner, however, seemed neither dismayed nor amused. 

“It is none of your business whether my rooms are full, nor is it your business who I sell them to, Howe.” 

Nathaniel fixed his glare back on the man. Was there anything the barkeep didn’t think worth derision? Andraste’s Ashes, he was a man selling horrible drink in a back ally of Amaranthine. He didn’t have much room to think poorly of anyone. Nathaniel decided he should have taken more of the man’s gold. He could have given it Anders so the man could get a proper bath and maybe a change of clothes, since he had obviously forgotten proper human hygiene at some point in the past six years.

“No, it is your business to serve customers. But since you seem unable to do that, I shall have to go elsewhere,” Nathaniel said, turning to go. He didn’t feel like fighting tonight. Or ever again, really, unless it was completely necessary. He stopped and paused, looking back at Anders. The mage looked like he wanted to follow, but wasn’t moving. Nathaniel shook his head.

“Mage, this city was once under my family’s protection. Since the barkeep is an idiot, I might as well offer you hospitality.” 

He thought he might regret it. But, if nothing else, it would give him a chance to figure out what exactly had happened to Anders. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to care or bother, but the curiosity would eat away at him for months if he didn’t find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Anders was reluctant to follow Nathaniel home. Coming back to Amaranthine wasn’t the best idea, but moving was, and the more he switched between holdings and bannorns the less likely it would be that anyone would catch him. He’d chosen that particular Amaranthine bar because it was known for its bad reputation. Why a Gray Warden and former lordling was there, Anders had no idea. He’d tried to smother the curiosity, to not acknowledge Nathaniel and just keep moving, but it had refused to happen that way. Nathaniel had said hospitality, and didn’t seem to be taking him to Vigil’s Keep. Anders was curious. And really, really tired. He didn’t try to find a bed often, but with the Templars in the streets a locked door was safer than an alleyway. Safety had been the reason, but he’d set himself on actually sleeping under a roof for once after making the decision, at least before the innkeeper had taken such a harsh attitude. He had questions to ask of Nathaniel, too, if time and circumstance allowed. Nathaniel had changed, considerably. He’d been angry and confused when they had shared quarters as fellow Grey Wardens, but there was pain about him now, as well. In the way he moved, and the way he spoke. Anders had noticed it when he’d been assisting Hawke, but he’d not been able to ask. 

Being tired to the bone and incredibly curious was a fatal combination, and Anders found himself following his former fighting partner down the road. He’d just have to make sure Nathaniel didn’t learn too much, at least not until after he was gone. He might be able to keep the rogue safe if he was gone fast enough. It was weak, potentially endangering a friend just for a night under a roof. But, then, if there was one thing he and Justice agreed on these days it was that he was a weak man. He’d asked more of Hawke than he’d had any right to. He might as well be consistent and do the same with Nathaniel. 

He was not expecting to be lead to a doorstep after a few more back alleys. Nathaniel set his shoulder into the door and shoved, hard. The wood gave way with a rather unsettling creak, exposing a small but clean room, with a fireplace housing a few coals gasping out their last decrepit waves of heat. Anders followed him in, looking into as many corners as he could at once.

“This is not what I was expecting, Howe.”

“So you do actually remember me. I was beginning to wonder.” Nathaniel pulled off his boots and knelt by the fireplace, prodding it half-heartedly with the poker. “Don’t suppose you want to make this easy, seeing as I brought you home and all.”

Anders paused for a second, then nodded. A second later and the log was happily ablaze in the fireplace, magical fire slowly fading to natural. “I hadn’t forgotten. I just didn’t want you getting in trouble.”

“It isn’t a crime to stop a man from freezing in an alley.”

“I might have convinced him,” Anders said. He didn’t sound very sure, and Nathaniel just snorted.

“Not a crime to save a man from a terrible case of lice, either.” 

Anders shook his head. Nathaniel seemed determined to pass off the anvil they both knew was hanging over their heads. The one that had been hanging over the head of Anders and anyone who came close to him since he’d left the Wardens. The crime of knowingly harboring and aiding a wanted apostate. Still, if Nathaniel was so stupid as to want to ignore it for a time, he would welcome the break. Justice disagreed, saying it was dangerous and stupid. Anders ignored him. “This place seems like it might harbor diseases of its own.” 

“I do my best to keep it clean,” Nathaniel responded after a moment’s pause, unsure how to word what he was saying without sounding more bitter than he was. “I’m afraid the city is not overly welcoming of me, or anyone else sharing my name.” 

“And yet you stay?” Anders asked. 

“It is my home, and my family was supposed to protect these people, even if nobody remembers.”

Anders stared at the flames he’d created as he tried to figure out the answer to that. Protecting people he could, certainly, even protecting those that didn’t want your help. Home, however, had lost meaning for him a long time ago. Finally he just nodded. “A good reason, I suppose.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about,” Nathaniel said. The words weren’t accusing, just pointing out the fact that was obvious to both of them. “No matter. It remains that even if Amaranthine does not want me, I wish to remain near her.” 

Anders hand tightened into a fist, that sentiment one he could identify with, even if it had nothing to do with an entire bannorn and more just one woman he’d been too weak to convince of his worth, a single individual who had chosen to let him live despite his crimes and betrayal. He took a deep breath, beating back his own emotions and the accusing litany from Justice about the weakness of such thoughts. Struggling for words to change the subject or move the conversation on, he said the first thing he thought of. “You must have mice, here. I don’t suppose you have a cat?”

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment, then started laughing. A bad idea, he soon realized as air flowed the wrong way, old injuries making themselves known. The laugh turned into a violent cough, his throat temporarily closing.

“Are you alright?” Anders asked as the echoes of the cough faded, genuinely concerned. Nathaniel shook his head.

“I don’t usually talk so much,” he said, words tinged with bitterness. “It’s not easy for me anymore.” 

Anders hesitated. He’d been wondering, but unsure about asking. But the subject was broached now. “I’ve been meaning to ask what happened to your voice since I met you in Kirkwall, but never had the chance.”

“Hurlock thought my head would look better a foot from my body, but I liked it where it was. We compromised and he only took my throat,” Nathaniel explained, pausing before he reached up and pulled his tunic down slightly, revealing the extent of the damage to his neck.

“You...” Anders stood and crossed the distance between them, kneeling to examine the scars left by a fight long-ago completed, the wounds long past healed and out of reach of his magic now. “How were you not healed?”

Anders fingers were fluttering at the edge of Nathaniel’s neck, barely touching it but unable to stop himself from less. The rogue took a deep breath, steadying himself against the influx of memories. “There was no mage,” he said roughly. “I woke up two days later being tended by a old woman. There were five Wardens with me, and none of the others survived.” 

“The Wardens sent you into the Deep Roads without a mage?” Anders asked in surprise. Nathaniel gave him a hard look, more accusing than he meant it to be, although he didn’t mean for it to be soft, either.

“After you left, the Wardens here were hesitant about taking any more apostates, and the Circle guards the mages within it more closely than ever nowadays. There were none to be had.” 

Anders stood, turning to face the wall, entire posture seeming to change for a moment. “That was not right of them, to risk you because the Circle is weak.”

Nathaniel could have sworn Anders' voice had changed, not to mention bearing and posture It didn’t make that much of a difference, though. “Would have it been better to let the darkspawn continue killing innocents?” 

“Neither should have happened!” 

“...Are we fighting?” Nathaniel asked, affronted. He would be willing to if Anders wished it, but he usually liked arguments to have a bit more of a basis than a single line. Anders froze for a long moment, then shuddered down his entire body.

“I apologize. Obviously you had no choice, it’s just been a long day. I just wish it could have been helped.”

“As do I and the five young Wardens that died out there,” Nathaniel said bitterly. “There is much about the past that can’t be changed anymore, though.”

Anders turned back then, expression drawn and sad. It was harder to control Justice, now, if even little things like this were getting his attention. He really shouldn’t have come here. Nathaniel looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head.

“You really are exhausted, aren’t you? I will get you a blanket and you can sleep on the couch for tonight. We can talk, or argue, more in the morning.”

Anders did little more than nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel's throat damage is based on a hypothesis about why his voice changed so dramatically between Awakening and DA2.


	3. Chapter 3

Nathaniel awoke with a gasp, stifling back a cry. The aching in his throat, however, implied that there wasn’t a lot of point to that. He’d already been screaming. Another night, another nightmare. He stared at the barely-visible ceiling, breathing hard as he gathered it thoughts. He wondered, now, whether the nightmares were the result of the Joining, or just plain old-fashioned night terrors. Not that made that much of a difference. Whether the cause of the nightmare was some genlock having a wet dream about splitting a young child from throat to crotch, or just memories of watching it happen while he was helpless to do anything, the end result was the same for Nathaniel. 

With a final shuddering breath, he decided to get up. If Anders was asleep, he could probably be quiet enough to get around him. Otherwise maybe they could talk. It had been a long time since he’d spoken with another Warden, or at least someone who had once been one. They wanted very little to do with him, and he wanted even less to deal with them. Pushing himself up, he made his way to the main room of his house.

The blanket on the couch was folded carefully and draped over the back of the couch. It took a while for his eyes to focus, but after a second Nathaniel realized Anders was kneeling in front of the fire, idly poking at it. 

“I was wondering if I should wake you.” Among other things

“I’ve become very skilled at waking myself,” Nathaniel said with a shrug. 

“So it seems,” Anders said, standing. “Was it the dream where Oghren runs around in his smallclothes reciting Antivan erotic poetry?”

“As I recall, you were the one that did that,” Nathaniel said dryly. It had been an interesting night, that, and one he wished he could forget. By all rights he should have forgotten it, given the amount of alcohol they’d all imbibed. Must have gone through an entire keg by themselves. Whatever anyones’ opinion of the Couslands, the family had stomachs of steel. The Hero had drunk them all under the table that night. 

Anders laughed, largely in relief. “Of course, but that was fuel for pleasant dreams, not nightmares.” 

“For you, maybe,” Nathaniel replied, “but you’re more vain than an Orlesian courtesan.” 

"There is no harm in appreciating nice things,” Anders shot back. He found himself relaxing, which wasn’t at all what he wanted. He wanted to be out the door with Nathaniel Howe as far behind him as possible. The look that Nathaniel gave him at that comment implied that he felt the same.

“Naked, sweaty, dirty men are not nice things,” Nathaniel said.. 

“You just haven’t asked the right people,” Anders laughed. “And you’re the one dreaming about it.”

“I was not,” Nathaniel shook his head in exasperation. He almost wanted to say he had been dreaming about Oghren in his underwear, simply so that he wouldn’t have to think about what he had actually been dreaming about. 

“You’re sure?” Anders said. “Your screams would be most understandable in my original scenario.” 

Nathaniel took a deep breath. Anders was trying, he realized, to give him an out, not to belittle his nightmares in any way. He never wanted an out, though. He’d willingly become a Warden and that had included the nightmares. Still. “I would have preferred that.”

Anders raised an eyebrow, wondering if he should point out how entirely awkward it sounded that Nathaniel should prefer Oghren in his underwear to, well, anything. But, then, he’d screamed those same screams, and maybe they were. Even without the Blight, the darkspawn wove themselves insidiously into the unconscious, making sleep not so much a break from the day as a journey into unfamiliar and hostile territory. Had he not already planned on leaving, his own screams might have woken him as Nathaniel’s had woken the Howe. “I know.”

“You know?” Nathaniel fixed the mage with a hard, judgmental look. He seemed incapable of keeping a conversation on a single path, recently. Holding a serious conversation with Anders had always been difficult, but it had been easy to hold one if you were willing to debase yourself with vulgarities. He’d expected more about smallclothes and ale, to be honest. 

“There were weeks when I hardly slept at all, despite being barely able to function,” Anders said. The past tense, there. Now he just didn’t sleep all that much, one eye always on the door and the other on his own mind, trying to keep track of how often he wasn’t in control of himself. He was still exhausted, but Justice saw to it that he was able to perform even so. 

“You seem to have escaped tonight,” Nathaniel said. An indication, he supposed, that tonight’s had simply been his own imagination. It had been easier in the Warden barracks. If you woke up and half the room was also awake, you knew it was the result of the darkspawn connection. If everyone else was snoring, you knew it was your own fears getting the best of you. 

Anders paused. “I have been awake for a while already.” 

Nathaniel opened his mouth and closed it again, finally taking in Anders and the rest of the room. The folded blanket, the retied belt and jacket, the stave propped up against the door. “You were leaving.”

“I...yes. I really can’t stay here,” Anders said. Short, and to the point, and the Maker’s own truth.

“My house isn’t that bad, mage. Certainly you’ve stayed in worse.” 

“It isn’t that. I’ve done things, Nathaniel. I can’t stay in one place for too long, certainly not here.” 

Nathaniel crossed to stand next to the mage, studying him. “Why come at all?”

Anders smiled then, finally looking at Nathaniel. “You demanded it, as I recall.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “I offered you hospitality when there was none to be found. It is the right thing to do to offer it, you didn’t need to take it.”

No, he hadn’t. Anders knew that. Justice knew it and had been making it very clear since the moment he’d stepped out of the tavern door with Nathaniel. “I...wanted to see a friendly face.” 

Nathaniel paused, sighed, and shook his head again. “Sit. A few minutes won’t make any difference at all.” Anders stared at him, but crossed back to the couch and sat. Nathaniel wasn’t sure he was going to. Striding to the kitchen, he pulled down two mugs and poured ale into both. He didn’t have a lot, but it seemed like it might be needed. He kept one eye on Anders as he did, but the mage seemed distracted by staring into the fire, fingers worrying at the edge of his robes. Indeed, he even jumped when Nathaniel came back into the room, holding out one of the cups as he sat on the other side of the couch. 

“I was actually intending on leaving quite a while ago,” Anders admitted after a moment, taking the offered cup and holding it close to his body. He didn’t drink. “An hour at least. I was trying to decide if I should awake you on the way, though.”

“I was screaming that loudly,” Nathaniel said. A statement, not a question. He’d woken the neighbors dogs on more than one occasion.

“Leaving a man to such dreams is cruel, but sometimes it is worse to wake him.”

“Or maybe you just wanted to leave without saying goodbye or offering any sort of reason,” Nathaniel said dryly. Anders winced, and didn’t deny it. 

“I shouldn’t have come here at all, Nathaniel. I don’t deserve it and you don’t need the troubles it will bring you to have me here.” 

Nathaniel swallowed back annoyance. And concern. No, he probably didn’t deserve the troubles it would bring him, but he’d made the choice to bring Anders back here. And since when did Anders think he wasn’t worth trouble? “Isn’t that my choice to make?”

Anders shook his head, hard. “Maybe, but you don’t understand. I’ve...done things, Nathaniel. Horrible things. I will do more of them because the road only goes one direction now that I’m on it. By even coming into your house I’m putting you in danger.”

Nathaniel stared, and took a deep drink. Anders obviously believed every word he was saying. Maybe he was telling the truth, too. Anders had strong opinions of everyone, but had always tried to at least pretend that his opinion of himself was high. “Again, I feel as though I should get to make that decision. Can I at least know what these terrible, unforgivable things you’ve done are?” 

Anders smiled sadly, putting down his mug.“It is a very long list, and everyone thinks at least one item on it reprehensible. I don’t really wish to list them until we find yours.” Not that he didn’t know. Justice had been Nathaniel’s friend, too, and Nathaniel was nothing if not loyal. He was pretty sure what he’d done to the spirit would be pretty high on Nathaniel’s list of grievous sins.

“If I said I wanted to know?”

“You really don’t,” Anders said, moving to rise from the couch. He needed to leave before he decided to tell Nathaniel everything, thereby putting him in mortal danger.

Nathaniel stood quickly, placing himself between Anders and the door. He had no idea why he was doing this. It was more trouble than he wanted and probably more than Anders was worth, but his brain seemed to be running on two different lengths. 

“Maybe not,” he said, before he could stop himself. “I’ll tell you what I know right now, though.”

Anders didn’t move, just waited, hand clenched at his side and staring at his staff where it lay next to the door, waiting for him. 

“I know that you’re exhausted, and it’s pretty obvious that you’re on the run. I know that you’re an apostate, and that the Templars here have taken three such mages back to the Circle in only a fortnight, but are still on high alert. I know you’re scared to fight back against idiots and apparently you don’t sleep, either.” Nathaniel paused for a long moment, wondering if Anders had any intention of replying. When he didn’t, Nathaniel sighed and stepped forward, clasping the mage’s shoulder in his hand.

“For all I know, you’ve killed all our former friends and led darkspawn raids, but I seriously doubt it. Whatever crimes you’ve committed, they will still be on your shoulders in the morning.” 

Anders finally looked at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they’d met in the tavern. The mage’s gaze was dark and troubled and sad enough to take Nathaniel’s breath away. “You really shouldn’t do this.” 

“I don’t care,” Nathaniel said firmly. He’d hold his ground on this. He felt like he might be being monumentally stupid, but he’d made his decision and he was going to stand by it until he found a reason not to. 

Anders stared at him, and then suddenly the mage’s gaze seemed to change somewhere else. Nathaniel wasn’t sure where or how, but he wasn’t looking out anymore. His expression changed. “This is not a wise move, Nathaniel Howe.” 

Nathaniel swallowed and shook his head. Anders’ voice had taken on the same tone it had earlier, when he’d thought they were about to fight over going to the deep roads. Eerie, and stronger than it should be. Nathaniel was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. He was going to find out, probably, if he stood his ground. Fine. “We all make mistakes. You are staying.” 

Anders deflated then, eyes focusing on Nathaniel again and then all around, slightly panicked as he tried to get his bearings, see if he’d done anything, and then back on Nathaniel, who looked confused but none the wiser. He’d felt Justice gaining control, and thought he’d stopped him but wasn’t sure. Maybe Justice wouldn’t hurt Nathaniel, though. They’d been friends. “I’m staying, am I?”

Nathaniel relaxed, slightly, letting his hand drop from Anders’ shoulder. “Yes. I need to kill some man-eating wolves tomorrow, and having a mage would be useful."


	4. Chapter 4

It was very nearly a relief to Anders when Nathaniel came out of the bedroom, and even more of one when they’d set out, moving away from crowds and into more remote areas outside of the city. Despite staying, he hadn’t slept at all and spent several hours doing nothing more than pacing. Nathaniel was going to find out what he’d done eventually, and the worst-case scenario of him finding out the hard way didn’t seem very unlikely. It was terrifying, and Anders wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just left despite the promise he’d made to stay. It would hardly the first, or the most important, that he’d broken.  
  
As he followed in Nathaniel’s footsteps he pondered just how stupid he’d been to come back to Amaranthine, even if he it had seemed important at the time. He’d come on a tip that Templars were rounding up apostates and executing them if there was any rumor at all they’d been using blood magic. And there always were such rumors, since the fear-mongering of the Chantry meant that the public were sure that if a healing spell was used within a month of someone getting sick it must have been blood magic.  
  
And yet, despite the tip, he’d found nothing. The Templars seemed more bored than anything, which was how Anders preferred it. Safer that way. It meant he was less likely to lose control in the middle of a crowded square. Honestly, it seemed like he should have learned after Ser Alrik, but it was still a struggle every time. The public didn’t deserve to be slaughtered simply for being uninformed, even if it wasn’t fair, and yet it was becoming easier to justify their deaths with each passing day.  

So Nathaniel dragging him out of the door gave him, at the very least, a distraction, albeit a rather unwanted one. And he’d said something interesting last night.

“Man-eating wolves, huh?” Anders asked the still slightly-rumpled rogue, who had apparently decided it wasn’t worth shaving just to go out into the woods. 

“Well, right now they’re cow-eating wolves, but once you stab them they tend to stop discriminating,” Nathaniel replied roughly. And while he had decided that wandering off into the woods while it was barely light wasn’t worth shaving it was worth breakfast. Reaching into his pack he pulled out a few pieces of hardtack, waving one at Anders questioningly. Easier not to talk, and it wasn’t like Anders, of all people, had any grounds on which to complain about manners.

Anders blinked. “You saw what was available last night. It’s practically a feast.” And both were better than most of what he’d had recently, but there was no purpose in mentioning that. 

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, but just threw one of the hard biscuits at Anders, who caught it and immediately began crunching it like a starving man. Right. Nathaniel took a pull of water from his canteen. His voice tended to object if he tried to eat before drinking these days. “You are ok with helping, right?”

Anders paused. He wasn’t OK with it, not at all. He should be miles away. At the same time, he couldn’t very well leave in good faith knowing Nathaniel needed his help.“After your kind invitation? Of course.”

“Good. Being eaten by wolves isn’t high on my list of goals today, and if what the farmers say is true, there are a lot of them,” Nathaniel found himself oddly relieved. Anders being here meant he hadn’t needed to hire help, which was always risky. At least he knew Anders was halfway competent and would probably keep them alive. 

“Is this what you do now, helping farmers keep their livestock alive?”

Nathaniel snorted as he took a bite of food to settle the grumbling in his stomach, and tossed another piece of the hard bread towards Anders, who had finished his and was casting hopeful and extremely conspicuous glances at the small stack at the center of the table. “I wish. Given their incompetence that would be steady work.”

Anders cocked his head to one side. “So we’re going out into the middle of nowhere because...?”

“I’m...” Nathaniel paused, wondering what exactly he was now. Not quite a sword for hire or a mercenary, but he’d figured out very quickly that you couldn’t do good deeds for free. Without the Wardens or a respected family name behind him, things required money. He performed tasks for people who seemed to have good causes. Mostly killing things. Yeah, ok. “I’m a sword for hire.”

“Ah,” Anders said. That did explain some things, at least. “That would be why you were lurking in seedy taverns. How does this bring us to man-eating wolves?” 

“This pack has become too bold. With the Wardens requisitioning cattle for leather and food, the farmers can’t afford the losses,” Nathaniel said. In many ways, it seemed the Wardens should be the ones doing this, but they were still spread thin.

“So you play the hero and go save the hapless villagers. Got it. You do realize half of them hate you, right?” There was being noble, and there was being sane. Cutting your losses was a perfectly valid way to exist.

“They have nobody else,” Nathaniel said flatly. He knew perfectly well that it might all be pointless. He chose not to believe it, or maybe just not to care. It wasn’t something he really liked discussing, let alone with Anders. “You have no room to talk, apostate.”

Anders stopped and stared at him, simultaneously resigned to what was true, and betrayed. Not that his relationship with Nathaniel had ever been very cordial. Still, he was correct. “You’re right, I don’t.”

“I’m...glad you agree,” Nathaniel said. He was surprised Anders hadn’t denied it, or made light. Maybe Anders had been possessed or something. That would explain things.

Silence fell after that, neither man sure what to say to carry on the conversation without it being awkward. Instead they walked in silence, Anders trudging in back and thinking thoughts he usually tried not to ponder, and Nathaniel walking ahead, thinking about wolves and wondering if hitting Anders would bring back the snarky mage he’d fought with, and met in Kirkwall for a brief moment. The path to the area the farmers had assumed the wolves would be in was strangely clear, given that such beasts didn’t usually break trails, and soon the two of them broke through to a large clearing, where a large boulder was split and leading into an honest-to-goodness cavern. It also didn’t look like the home of any wolf, at least not any breathing ones.

“Nathaniel. I know I’ve been away for a while, but do Amaranthine wolves usually leave their dead in bone piles outside the den?” Anders said warily.

Nathaniel hesitated, freeing one of his daggers before answering. This wasn’t right, at all. Whatever man-eating creatures dwelled here, it wasn’t wolves. “Not last I knew. Be on guard.” 

“I already am,” Anders said through gritted teeth, looking at the mouth of the cave with more than a little suspicion. “I suppose we should go in there, seeing as we used to be honorable and fearless Grey Wardens.” 

Nathaniel nodded grimly, taking a careful step forward, Anders following several steps behind, staff already glowing faintly. The cave looked dark, and dark was never good. 

Three steps later and it became very apparent that he wasn’t going to have to worry about going in, because things were coming out. Dragon-like things, and a lot of them. Behind him, he heard Anders curse, and then there was a cry from the nearest creature as it leaped towards him. Halfway deafened from the noise, Nathaniel barely had time to duck, spinning as he did and stabbing it into the neck of the dragonling as it lunged at him. It jumped away, dark blood spurting from a cut artery, and fell twitching to the ground. Nathaniel turned to the one that had been coming up on his right, only to find a cold corpse. Several twitching beasts stood behind it, trying to get suddenly frozen limbs to work. As Nathaniel pulled out his second blade to dispatch of them before they succeeded he decided that, yes, having competent mages was definitely a benefit. 

Anders realized as soon as the fight started that the better part of a decade meant he wasn’t quite as polished at fighting together with Nathaniel as he once had been. A few seconds later he remembered that you didn’t actually be polished when you could burn things and your comrade could remove their heads. Staff planted firmly in the ground, he’d called up ice, raining snow and sleet down upon the lizard-like dragonlings, freezing them in place, watching as Nathaniel made short work of the immobile beasts. Retired or not, Nathaniel still moved like the fighter he was, and Anders let his energy recover as he watched. As the last dragonling fell, Nathaniel turned to the mage and rolled his eyes.

“Were you planning on helping with the rest?”

Anders opened his mouth, “I helped pl...”  
  
There was more to the sentence, but whatever the mage said was drowned out as a fearsome bellow surged from the cave, echoed through the clearing and probably miles through the woods, the sound mirrored by an identical cry from somewhere below their feet. Nathaniel’s eyes went wide as he placed the sound second before two adult drakes charged from the darkness, on him before he could even  begin to sidestep. As soon as he was on his back, the beast was on top of him, claws flashing towards his chest. As the claws ripped through him, accompanied by blinding pain, Nathaniel dimly heard a cry from Anders, blue magic erupting around them. The drake bellowed again, leaping off of him and turning towards Anders. Desperately, Nathaniel tried to climb to his feet and distract the two animals from Anders, who was obviously trying to cast a complicated spell, energy beginning to form around him. Whatever it was, the first drake hit him before he was done, the energy winking out as Anders was knocked back and hard against a tree.

The blow from the drake was enough to stun Anders, and as he struggled to get his bearings again he dimly processed Nathaniel, bleeding from huge wounds across his check and arms, struggling to draw the bow he’d unslung from his back. Head ringing, he tried to form another spell to aid the rogue. Before he could, however, Nathaniel unleashed an arrow into the flank of the drake nearest to him, the huge beast spinning and slamming him down to the ground, unmoving. 

“NO!” Anders cried out as the man who had been his friend and asked him for his help fell. The two drakes turned their attention to him at the sound, charging as one. He had one shot, Anders realized. He was going to have to...Anders closed his eyes and did what he’d promised he wouldn’t, asking Justice. He felt the spirit take shared control, feeling his powers shift and his body burn a temperature he’d never been able to decide on. Without pause, he raised his staff, planting it into the ground as energy erupted from the end, hitting the ground under the drakes and dropping them just at his feet. As they struggled to rise, he spun the weapon, slamming through the skull of the nearest and running energy down the weapon. A horrific noise, and the entire head of the small dragon exploded in a spray of blood and flesh. 

Even as the first drake fell, though, the second lashed out, raking claws across Anders’ back. The mage’s arm went numb as tendons were severed, stave falling from suddenly useless fingers. Empowered by the spirit within, Anders didn’t even hesitate, blocking out the pain as the drake bore him to the ground in preparation for splitting him open and ending the fight. Raising his good hand to the exposed chest of the creature above him, Anders cast his next spell directly over the beast, a binding spell. Bones cracked and popped as the magic force crushed the beast. It was the one that had felled Nathaniel, Anders realized as the spell released itself and the drake stood, reeling. Anders didn’t give it a chance to recover, a well-placed fire spell cooking its organs before it could move again. It crashed to the ground.

Breathing hard, Anders tried to pull himself to his feet and make his way towards Nathaniel. He wasn’t sure if the rogue was even alive, but he had to try. His body wasn’t having it, though, legs giving out before he’d made it a single step. Even empowered by the spirit inhabiting him, his body could only take so much. As the world started to go dark, Anders gathered the last shred of his energy and used it to cast the most powerful healing spell he could towards Nathaniel. It would have to be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Nathaniel regained consciousness, darkness and pain fading to images and slightly less pain as Anders’ final spell did its work. He stared at the ceiling of the forest for several minutes before painfully rolling onto his knees, looking around. It was quiet, and he was alive, which meant that Anders had to have defeated the drakes, which meant he had to be somewhere. Hopefully also alive. Groggily, Nathaniel climbed to his feet, eyes focusing on movement across the clearing. Unsteadily, he lurched towards it. At least movement and sound meant Anders was alive.

Anders was on his knees in what looked like the liquefied remains of one of the drakes that had attacked them, a strange look on his face. After a few seconds, Nathaniel realized it was pure terror. The litany of requests for forgiveness was a bit of a tip-off.

“Anders,” the rogue said. “It’s fine. The dragons are dead and we’re fine.”

Anders struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the staff in his hand. Nathaniel had asked for his help and it had almost gone horribly wrong. There was still blood dripping down his robes and his arm wasn’t working, hanging uselessly by his side. He gave it a disgusted, angry look, then shook his head. “I very nearly failed.”

“You vaporized a dragon, Anders. I don’t think that’s failing.” This was so odd, Nathaniel reflected. Anders had always been a cocksure bastard, not a simpering fool. A large part of Nathaniel wanted to throw up its hands and walk away because this was a stupid thing to be discussing. And every instinct he had was telling him that was somehow a very bad idea.

“You were nearly dead! If I’d messed up another spell, it would have been over,” Anders tried to explain. To get it across. Nathaniel had been trusting him to keep them alive, and he’d failed completely. Again.

“You didn’t mess up, and it’s not your fault. If anything, it’s the farmers’ fault.”

Anders went completely still, feeling a cold rage wash over him, every inch of his body burning with a sudden hatred for the men who must have lied to Nathaniel’s face. Anders’s mind yelled out in rage, going cold as he thought about it. No...nononono. “Don’t say that.”

“Even they have to be able to tell the difference between a cow eaten by a dragon and one eaten by a wo-”

“No!” Anders interrupted, voice saturated with desperation as he tried to ignore the words and the honest truth behind them. He believed them, certainly, but he couldn’t let himself believe them. “Don’t. Please, don’t”

Nathaniel stared at the mage as he was cut off, trying to figure out what had just happened. Whatever it was, it had Anders’ body tense along every inch, the hand of his injured arm clenched despite the fact that he hadn’t even been able to move it a few seconds ago. “Anders?”

The mage turned to him, moving entirely differently from before. His eyes were glowing, too. Nathaniel took a half-step backwards before he was able to stop himself. He’d never backed down from Anders, even when he’d been drunk and composing poetic song about the oppression of mages. Although, honestly, he wasn’t sure this was Anders he was talking to. “What’s wrong?” Because something was definitely, horribly wrong.

“What are we going to do about them?” Anders asked, voice lower and more gravelly than usual. All of the sarcasm was gone, leaving nothing but anger and hatred.

“Do about who?” Nathaniel asked, confused. “If you’re talking about the farmers, collect what they promised and go on our way with enough money for supplies.”

“They lied and nearly got you killed. Think if they had asked someone less skilled.”

“Or if I had brought a worse mage, yes,” Nathaniel said tiredly. “But they didn’t and I brought a former Grey Warden.”

“So you’re just going to forgive them?” Cold rage echoed through Anders voice, chilling the air and very ground under his feet. Nathaniel did his best to hold ground, not having any idea what was going on but getting the idea that either he or someone else was going to end up dead if he didn’t stand up to Anders.

“No. I’m going to stand there, every inch of my body desiring to hurt them if they lied to me, and then I am going to walk away and move on,” Nathaniel said. It was something he’d become very skilled at, walking away. From his family, from the Grey Wardens.

“Hurt them if you wish to. They deserve it, after all,” Anders rumbled, then his voice rose for a second, becoming more familiar to Nathaniel, although confused and uncharacteristically scared. “Don’t they?”

Nathaniel hesitated, not even sure how to answer that. Maybe they did deserve to be hurt, but probably not. He had no idea why he was having to tell Anders this, of all people. The man had been chased from Ferelden after leaving the Grey Wardens, and had spent at least an hour of every day ranting about how unfair the world was to anyone who would listen before that. “Anders, we live in hard times. The Wardens are too busy, so the farmers probably just didn’t think anyone would help if they told the truth about what was out here.”

“So instead they lie and nearly get people killed. Unacceptable!” The confusion and fear were gone again, replaced by the same uncompromising anger.

“If you’re so angry about it, just go back to my place. I’ll meet with them and give you a share of the profit when I get back,” Nathaniel said, feeling annoyance growing within him behind his confusion, lurking with the fear that instinct was telling him would be appropriate.

“And let you go, when you’re too cowardly to even stand up for yourself!” Anders yelled. The mage suddenly surged forward, ignoring his own injuries to slam his staff into Nathaniel’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs. The rogue’s eyes went wide in confusion as he fell to his knees. Anders stood above him, staff raised to come down again as Nathaniel struggled to draw in breath. “Those too yellow-bellied to stand up for their own beliefs don’t deserve to live.”

“I am not a coward, I just see no point in killing someone simply because they were scared,” Nathaniel snarled back, words broken but understandable. He was more angry than frightened, he realized, despite the very real possibility that Anders was about to kill him. The implications, however, were unacceptable. If Anders was going to kill him it wouldn’t be for cowardice. “I am many things, but I am not a murderer.”

“And that it your excuse?” Anders growled, rotating his staff so the metal end was at the bottom, pointed towards Nathaniel’s throat. Energy crackled around them both.

“Yes. My father taught me just how easy it is to kill someone who disagrees with you, and showed me just how wrong it is,” Nathaniel said coldly. If Anders did actually believe what he was saying then, yes, he could start with Nathaniel. He’d need to start with Nathaniel because, Maker help him, right now he was considering sliding his knife through the mage’s ribs. “Kill me now and there will only be one murderer here.”

For the longest time, Anders didn’t respond as he stood there, trembling with rage and continuing to glow. Then, as quickly as he’d attacked Nathaniel, he stepped back. His shoulders sagged down, righteous anger being replaced with defeat from the top down. “I’m so sorry, Nathaniel.”

“A little late for that” Nathaniel replied coldly as he struggled to his feet. He rested his hand on his dagger, just in case. This close, he could probably slit Anders’ throat before he formed a spell.

“No, that’s not what I-I have to go before I--I have to go Now,” Anders said in a rush, suddenly backing away and turning like a panicked horse, seemingly arguing with himself as blood dripped from his shoulder, leaving a trail on the ground. “I won’t kill them.”

Nathaniel stared after Anders as he ran, part of him wondering if he should go after him. Except, no, doing that would be as insane as Anders apparently was. The mage had just tried to kill him, for reasons that were fragile at best. Yes, if the farmers had known it was dragons they were assholes who deserved to be hurt. He was not going to be the one to judge them, though, and certainly not as harshly as Anders had been suggesting. Shaking his head in frustration, Nathaniel made his way to the other end of the clearing, gathering up the spilled supplies of his pack and shrugging it onto his shoulders. He needed to get out of the woods. And preferably into a large pint of ale. First, though, he needed to talk to the farmers.

It turned out that, yes, it was pretty much exactly as he’d anticipated about their motivations. They had lied, and it had been out of fear. The farmers who had contacted him looked pale and terrified as Nathaniel walked up, taking in his destroyed armor and thunderous expression. They’d been apologizing before he’d even opened his mouth. He didn’t let it go on for long.

“Shut up. Your cattle are safe. Give me my money and get out of my sight!” he snarled at the simpering man in front of him.

“Yes, yes. We’re sorry, ser. The Wardens had nobody to help us and none of the guard would fight dragons. We had to try to save our calves. Our families need to eat....”

“The Guard is made up of cowards and the Wardens have other things on their mind. I am neither guard nor Warden.” Nathaniel shoved the man back into the chair, hard, yanking the purse off the table and clenching it hard in his hand. It wasn’t like he could talk about trust, but he didn’t throw people into the maws of dragons, either. He was not in a mood to discuss it.

Nathaniel spun on his heel and strode out the door before he took Anders’ advice and simply threw the men across the room. As he crossed the threshold the first thing he noticed was a large crowd, gathering in the square and staring down the street like the king himself was coming to visit. Which he wasn’t, Nathaniel was fairly sure, so he just tried to push his way past. He wanted to go home, get a drink and go to bed. The city could deal with visitors.

“Right in the middle of the road,” a woman said, using her cane to lever her way up in the crowd.

“Yup,” her companion said excitedly. “Having a conversation with a demon right there.”

Nathaniel stopped, slowly and against his better judgement, listening to the murmurs through the crowd, and the ripples of words like ‘blood magic’, ‘apostate’ and ‘abomination’. He thought for a long moment, then sighed and reached out to tap one of the street urchin children on the shoulder. They were good at knowing things, even things Nathaniel thought he probably wasn’t in the mood to know.

“What’s going on?”

The boy looked up at Nathaniel, and then down to the purse clenched in his hand. His gaze fixed there, waiting until Nathaniel threw him a coin. He grinned as he caught it.

“Man came screaming into the town about an apostate doing magic right on the crossroads east of the city, covered in blood. A couple of Templars went to check. One came back and got the rest of the ones in the city. Must be something big.”

The kid didn’t wait for Nathaniel’s response, mostly because the rogue had fallen silent. It wasn’t that hard to guess who the mage probably was, given the location. Anders had been covered in blood, certainly, and while Nathaniel liked to think the mage was smarter than to stand around covered in blood and doing magic, Anders hadn’t exactly been rational during the time they’d been together. More stark raving mad. Unconsciously, Nathaniel reached up to rub a hand over the bruise on his chest from where Anders had struck him. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the Templars were bringing Anders in. He was in doubt about whether he cared the Templars were bringing Anders in.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m asking again, Abomination. Give us your name,” the Templar growled, holding Anders by the throat while two others simultaneously cast binding spells on him. The others were just standing with their hands on their swords, ready to strike if he so much as moved.

“I’m not going to do something guaranteed to end very badly for me,” Anders shot back, seething inside and out. His hands were tied so tightly he could hear the bones creak each time he tried to shift them, and another around his shoulders despite the gaping wound he hadn’t wanted to heal at the time. Maybe his tip was right, if these Templars were so willing to treat him this way without even knowing who he was. He was hardly the first blood-soaked madman to be caught talking to himself outside of a Ferelden city. If they’d figured out who he was, that would be different. But to treat a mage like this for no other reason than appearance and existence was unacceptable.

“It will go worse for you if you don’t,” the interrogating Templar insisted.

“That isn’t a very creative line,” Anders replied, shifting against his ropes. It wasn’t easy with one arm completely numb. He was pretty sure that if it was free, he still wouldn’t be able to move it. The templar smirked.

“I don’t need to be creative, I simply need to learn what you are.”

‘What’, Anders noted without surprise. Yet another templar who saw mages as inhuman. Anger flooded through Anders, white-hot. Justice would help if he asked, he knew that much. “Why not just get on with your sentence? We both know that you will assume whatever you wish.”

The templar shook his head, hand resting easily on his sword and making it obvious which way he thought those assumptions would go. “I see no reason not to assume. You seem to be yet another mage that refuses to accept the will of the Maker.”

“The Maker never asked for you to enslave us all!” Anders growled, beginning to struggle. One of the Templars holding him both physically and magically shifted her grip and leaned in.

“Please calm down,” she whispered almost urgently. She started to say something else, but was cut off by the interrogator starting to speak again.

“The Maker wishes for humanity to be safe, and your kind has been anything but recently. Your death or tranquility would only serve to enforce his will.”

Anders snarled, lunging against the ropes that were holding him. One of the templars cried out, the sound of steel being drawn echoing in Anders’ ears as a challenge, the cold metal against his neck a threat. “How dare you!”

“Dare?” The Templar laughed, almost genuinely amused. “I have no need to dare anything. The Maker has chosen me for this task.”

“The Maker doesn’t choose for you to be a murderer and a liar,” Anders growled, rage growing inside of him. He could feel Justice simmering beneath the surface, ready to break free. He could be free in an instant if he did. Free and gone before anyone who recognized him showed up to identify him. If they figured out who he was, he’d be dead or Tranquil by the end of the hour. News travelled fast, and almost every Templar in Thedas had their eye out for a rogue mage who had Joyously Murdered thousandsd of Kirkwall residents, devout followers of Andraste. From what he’d heard, the Templars were worse than Varric. What he’d done had been horrible - and Necessary, he tried to remind himself - but there had been nothing joyous about it.

“You are the murderers,” the templar replied calmly, sword pressed firmly to the hollow of Anders’ throat. “The rebellion of your kind has resulted in the death of hundreds of innocents, and yet you stand here and say you are the victims.”

“Stop speaking lies!” Anders yelled, finally letting go of everything. Eyes and aura burning with vengeance and magic, he snapped his bonds and grabbed the man’s wrist, turning it until the bone snapped. The templar’s magic was useless against him now, both of them backing with eyes wide as they realized it. One drew his sword, and Anders spun on him in an instant, magic lancing through the templar and killing him instantly.

The last Templar cowards before him, eyes wide with fear as blue fire crept up the walls around them. It was the one who had tried to calm him earlier. All the more reason to kill her. “This is the price you pay for your treatment of mages.”

Anders raised his staff high, wanting to see her fear, savoring her terror as she tried desperately to reform the spells that had neutralized him until now then. He just laughed, bringing down the weapon to crush her skull.

“No!” A fireball burst out of nowhere, slamming into his staff so it hit the ground instead of the woman’s head. A young robed man threw himself over the templar’s body. Anders stared in shock.

“What are you doing, protecting one who tortures you so?!” he snarled, eyes glowing as he prepared to kill them both, if this mage was so foolish. The mage stared up at him with eyes as terrified as those of the templar he was trying to protect. The same eyes as the templar he was trying to protect, Anders realized.

“She’s my sister. She doesn’t torture us, she protects me,” the mage tried to explain desperately, surrounded by a glowing protection spell that would do no good against the powers of the Fade.

“Tell that to the apostates she binds so that they can be executed or made tranquil. She wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to you,” Anders tried to reason with the boy.

“I know,” the boy said. “That’s why I asked her to become a templar, so that she could.”

Anders stared, feeling Vengeance’s frustration at being thwarted growing and twisting with his confusion, recapitulating in on one another. He would not be able to listen for long, so if the child wished to talk he’d better do so quickly.

“I don’t know if you are a blood mage, apostate. But my grandfather and uncle both were. They killed dozens of men each,” the mage explained, shifting as he cast another protection spell, weaker even than the first. “When I was born my mother killed herself for unleashing another monster into the world.”

“Very sad, I’m sure” Vengeance growled. He did not wish to listen, and was only doing so because some part of Anders thought he should. “But that does not give you a reason to protect your oppressors.”

“I don’t want to be a monster, but I fear I may become one.” The young mage looked sad, with years of sorrow and fear reflected in the words. “I asked my sister, as my last living relative, to become a templar. She will kill me if I ever follow the path of my ancestors.”

“You’re a fool if you think that,” Anders said. “I have seen them enact the Right of Annulment as the result of a single man’s actions. You are nothing to her.”

The templar girl struggled to sit, bleeding heavily from wounds both external and internal. “You are wrong. He’s my little brother, and I would die rather than see him harmed.”

“Then die you shall.” Anders stood there, fire and ice crackling around him before he slammed the end of his staff into the foundation, hard. Energies shot out from the weapon and along every beam of the building, which began to creak as the magic ate at them. The mage boy scrambled to his feet, standing over his sister protectively as the building began to fall around him. Anders did not move from the doorway.

“If you want her alive so much, save her,” he growled out. Every inch of him was trembling with the effort of keeping himself in check, anger raging beneath the surface. He wanted to kill this woman, so badly he could taste it alongside the blood in his mouth. She was a templar, and deserved to die. No matter what a misguided child, brainwashed by the Chantry, believed, she was his jailer and his sworn executioner, not a savior and protector. The mage was irredeemable now, beyond his help just as the tranquil were. The voices echoed in his head, and he made a decision. They would die. The girl for her treatment of mages and the boy because he was beyond help. Shaking, Anders raised his staff, gathering the energies that would destroy any life within its target. Even as he did, though, the building collapsed inward, separating him from his targets. He cried out at the loss, even as relief flooded through him. Shouts and screams were echoing through the night, and he tightened his grip on his staff. Innocents, he quickly reminded himself as he slipped into the shadows, forcing himself to walk away.


	7. Chapter 7

Nathaniel had just pulled down a bottle of whiskey from his very small special stash when the screams started. He saved these bottles for very important occasions, and this he counted as such an occasion.

He almost wanted to ignore the shouting and block the door, but there were a lot of them and most were for help. He took a sip of whiskey. The familiar glow of fires seeped in through the windows. “It couldn’t just have been another Blight?” Nathaniel muttered to himself, tossing the glass aside. He couldn’t very well let Amaranthine burn because he was feeling annoyed at the world. Buckling and holstering his weapons, he ventured back outside, tracking smoke and screams to a glowering crater near the Chantry.

A crater that had once, he was pretty sure, been flat ground with three buildings on it.

Nathaniel had expected worse, from the screams, but it actually seemed like most of the bystanders to whatever had happened were unharmed, or at the very least alive. Two mages hovered on the outskirts, wary even as they healed those townspeople pulled from the wreckage of the ruined buildings. Understandable, Nathaniel thought. He’d be nervous too, as a mage. The destruction was very obvious magical in nature, and already two dead templars that had been pulled from the burning timbers and laid down just outside the perimeter. A couple of men were struggling to pull a third body out. Ignoring the ache and stab from his ribs where Anders had struck him earlier, Nathaniel sprung forward to help. Only years of hardening on darkspawn and their victims kept him from retching as he took hold of one completely charred arm. The flesh had been cooked off the corpse, but the bones were heavy and coated in hot metal. Armor, Nathaniel realized. Or it had been, before magical heat had melted and reformed it as a metal skin over the man who had once worn it.

As they maneuvered the heavy body out next to the other two corpses, a cry of despair echoed from the wreckage behind them. A young girl, dressed in battered templar armor, lay flung across the chest of a mage. The girl seemed unharmed, but the open eyes of the mage reflected no signs of life.  
Looking away from the scene, Nathaniel realized that the mage was the only body not belonging to a templar. Dozens of injuries, some severe, but still only the four deaths. Whoever had done this had made it a targeted attack.

Right, Nathaniel scoffed at himself. ‘Whoever’. Like he didn’t know. The guards were questioning victims that babbled about blue flame and a man that glowed. He’d seen that, first hand, and knew exactly who it those flames belonged to.

“Why?” The girl asked, looking up at Nathaniel with big eyes, as if he would know the answer. “I could understand why a mage might distrust us, but there was just so much hatred inside of him. And why did he kill Darlan?”

“I don’t know.” Nathaniel shook his head and lay a hand on the girl’s shoulder. He didn’t know, true. He intended to find out, though. It had to have been Anders, but Anders whined and moaned and told terrible jokes. He didn’t pull buildings onto the heads of innocents and he certainly wouldn’t have ever killed another mage in cold blood, or a child. Nathaniel waited just long enough for another to come up and wait with the distraught templar, than turned on his heel.

The guard was mobilizing, and if they found Anders before him Nathaniel imagined he would never get his answers. It would be fine, though. Growing up in Amaranthine and spending years in the deep roads, and Nathaniel was more capable at finding things in the dark here than a hundred guards.

It took two hours and only a few missteps before he found Anders, deep in a dead end alley leading only to the sewers. The mage was curled up under a tattered cloak. Green magic swirled around him, low over the ground. Of what type Nathaniel did not know.

“Anders,” Nathaniel asked warily, one dagger drawn, “you destroyed that building, right?” He didn’t bother to beat around the bush for a question he knew the answer to already.

Anders looked up at him, eyes dull while he stroked a mewling kitten gently with one finger. The magic, Nathaniel realized, was swirling around an emaciated mother cat laying on the ground.

“How many are dead?” Anders asked, cutting off the magic. The mother cat staggered to her feet, backing warily away from the man who held her kitten. Anders gently put it on the ground, where it wobbled over. Grabbing the babe in her mouth, the mother turned and ran into the darkness. Anders hoped they would be ok. The mother was still very sick, and his skill at healing animals was not great, but he was sure he’d done her some good. They had a chance, now. He turned his attention back to Nathaniel as he started talking.

“Four. Three templars,” Nathaniel began, not missing the nod of satisfaction from Anders, He stiffened and tightened the grip on his dagger. “And a mage.”

“He would not back down. I had no choice,” Anders muttered under his breath. Nathaniel couldn't tell if it was an explanation, an excuse, or if Anders was trying to convince himself of his own lack of choice. “The villagers?”

Nathaniel walked a bit further down the alley, closer to where Anders sat on the ground. He was confused. Anders had not and did not deny what he’d done, and was even questioning and validating the casualties. But there was no pride in his voice. No emotion at all, really. “Maybe three dozen injured. They all still breathed when I left.”

Anders exhaled long, closing his eyes. "Thank the Maker."

Nathaniel moved closer again, to stand directly in front of the mage before he knelt down before him. All the evidence he’d seen, and yet Anders was not dangerous at the moment. He seemed more exhausted than angry, more defeated than desperate. “Why did you do it?”

‘It’ was a very vague word, and they both knew it. Anders looked at Nathaniel for a long time before answering. “There was no choice. I told you before you would not like to know what I’ve become.”

“That is not an answer. I don’t know what you’ve become, only that you’re acting like an idiot,” Nathaniel said, a note of frustration in his voice.

Anders smiled sadly. “Maybe that’s what I’ve become, then. More likely that’s what I always was.”

Nathaniel stood again, pacing the narrow width of the alley, still watching Anders. “You beg me to forgive you in one breath, and threaten to kill me the next. “

“Exactly.” Anders climbed unsteadily to his feet, legs shaking like they were about to collapse. 

“So you’re a two-faced lying murderer now?” Nathaniel snapped, casting wary looks both forward and back. He could see the dull glow of far away torches being carried closer, and they both knew what that meant. He was going to have to make a decision about Anders, and soon. Kill him, hand him over to the authorities or just walk away. They all had equally valid points to them. “If that is the case then, no, I do not like what you’ve become.”

Anders paused, then nodded. “All of those are on the list, among others things. I am sorry, Nathaniel, if that counts for anything.”

“This is not the sort of thing you can be sorry for, Anders.” Nathaniel stared at Anders, eyes wide and disbelieving. It counted for nothing at best, and negative at worst.

“Another reason for you to hate me, then,” Anders said vaguely. The torches, and the guards carrying them, were getting closer and the mage straightened. ”I should go.”

“What makes you think I’m going to let you?” Nathaniel asked, genuinely curious. Certainly Anders didn’t think that their friendship would mean he’d just let him walk away when he was acting so irrational and dangerous.

Anders paused and stared at his hands as though he expected them to blaze up with the damnable blue flame that Nathaniel was beginning to hate. “I had hoped.”

“I don’t think you can count on hope when you just returned part of my home to the ground,” Nathaniel said, placing himself between Anders and the mouth of the alley. It gave him more time to make a decision, that way.

“Do you intend to let me go, Nathaniel Howe?” Anders was staring at him, the tone of his voice deep and commanding an answer. 

Nathaniel’s back snapped ramrod straight at the change of address, and the faint aura of blue that was suddenly surrounding the mage. It made him slightly ill and he slowly drew his second weapon. “Why should I?”

“I must go. There are things I have not yet accomplished and you will not stand in the way,” the voice resonated off the walls. If the guards hadn’t already been coming this way, they would be now.

Nathaniel shook his head. “I’m not letting you go unless you give me a reason.”

“You have already passed judgement on Anders. There is no reason to be given.”

“The only judgement I have passed so far is that you have gone completely mad, Anders. I am hoping you’re about to change my mind,” Nathaniel backed a step down the alley. The guards were definitely coming this way now, and he had no doubt that Anders would kill them all on sight. He’d kill the mage himself before he allowed that to happen, unless Anders gave him a very good reason not to.

“I had to destroy the building. They were going to kill me, and other mages,” Anders said.

“The only mage there was you, Anders, and you killed the only dead one,” Nathaniel said, judging the area carefully. He wondered if perhaps he could just knock Anders out in order to buy himself some time. He had potions that would work, but getting to them while Anders watched would be impossible.

“That one needed to die,” Anders growled, the blue glow intensifying for a moment. “He would not be swayed.”

“So, what, you only protect them if they agree with you? You and my father would have gotten along well,” Nathaniel replied. This was not a reason not to kill Anders, far from it.

“Do not compare me to that coward!” Anders yelled, glow going white hot for a moment, and Nathaniel dodged as the familiar heat of magic seared towards him, rolling out of the way. As he regained his feet, having been given no reason not to try to kill Anders, he found the mage suddenly on his knees again, head clasped firmly in his hands. His eyes snapped up to Nathaniel, the familiar golden-brown again. “You have to go! I do no wish to kill you.”

Nathaniel froze there for a few seconds, and made his decision. You did not kill a man without good reason, and Anders was giving him more than enough good reasons to kill him. And as many reasons not to. Not to mention the guards were nearly there.

“I hate you, Anders, just so you know,” Nathaniel growled out. He dropped one of his blades, reaching into to pouch he always kept close at hand on his belt and pulled out a foul, green potion. Without missing a beat he cracked the seal and dashed the entire thing straight into Anders face. The mage bellowed with rage, entire body glowing blue before fading as his eyes fluttered closed. Nathaniel sighed in mild relief. He wasn’t sure what Anders was up to, but that potion had been made to cover an area. When consumed, it could put a mad bronto on its back. He’d been hoping that direct contact would be enough to send Anders, whatever he’d become, to sleep. He’d gambled correctly, it seemed.

Three guardsmen came running up to the mouth of the alley. Nathaniel hesitated, then placed himself between Anders and them. “There is nobody here, I already checked.”

The guards stared at him for a long time, eyes hard and judgemental. Nathaniel met the gaze easily. “After I saw the destruction, I thought I would join the hunt.”

“We heard shouting,” the guard said, obviously confused.

“I stepped on a cat’s tail,” Nathaniel said, willing the man to believe the ridiculous lie. It had been a long day and he didn’t feel like coming up with a better one. Not for Ander’s sake, certainly.

The guard continued to watch him, then nodded after too long a moment, waving him hand at the others with him. “You check the rest of this area. My men will begin by the market.”

Nathaniel huffed out a breath as they left. He was going to regret this in the morning. Anders had just tried to kill him, the second time in as many days. Certainly that cancelled out any debt for the times the mage had saved him from being ripped apart horribly by darkspawn.

As he tried to maneuver the now drugged Anders to his feet, Nathaniel wondered if that was even it anymore. For all the having almost killed him, something was still incredibly wrong with Anders. Nathaniel wasn’t stupid, he knew there was no way that the building had fallen when it did by coincidence. And, yet, that didn’t mesh with what Nathaniel knew of Anders. He’d been planning his escape from the Wardens for months, quite obviously, attempts continuously thwarted because the mage refused to leave anyone in danger just because he wanted to get out. Oghren had eventually started a betting pool on when he’d actually succeed. Sigrun had won. Not that any of that mattered. The point was that Anders hadn’t been the sort to just pull a building down on the head of a dozen innocent people for his own gain. A dozen templars, maybe. He hated them with a passion Nathaniel had never understood, but there had been others there, as well. People involved in no way with the tensions between the templars and the mages.

So, yes. If Anders had become someone who would murder people offhand, Nathaniel wanted to know why. He needed the man conscious for that. His unhealed side ached as he tried to pull Anders up, a reminder of just what a stupid thing he was doing.

“You shouldn’t do this,” Anders muttered against his neck. “You’ll regret it.”

Nathaniel shifted his grasp, leaning down to scoop Anders’ staff up and stash it in one of the many cracks in the wall. If anyone questioned him, he could say Anders was a drunk friend. Such excuses were harder with a staff involved. “You just worry about remembering that you don’t want to kill me. I’ll worry about regret.”

Nathaniel was very sure he was going to regret it. Slowly, he made his way up the alley, leading Anders and stopping every few steps to listen. He could lie and say Anders was drunk, but that wasn’t going to do a lot of good if they met a templar and the mage started glowing blue.


End file.
